


A Borrowed Film and a Stolen Kiss.

by Andrew Michael (Aubbie)



Series: Reddie Series [1]
Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Denial, First Kiss, M/M, Muffins, One Shot, Post chapter 1, Post-Canon Fix-It, Romance, Sexuality Crisis, Slurs, Tears, coming to terms with sexuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 11:33:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20947646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aubbie/pseuds/Andrew%20Michael
Summary: Richie is having his best friend Eddie over to watch a movie in his attic after not spending much time with him recently. As the night progresses, Richie battles with his hidden self-confidence issues and wrestles with his feelings for the same-sex. Should he confide in Eddie, or should he just keep his big mouth shut?(Summaries are not my strong suit).





	1. A Borrowed Film and a Stolen Kiss

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic the Losers had killed Pennywise for good in their first battle. There is no moving out of Derry. This takes place a bit after the events of the first one, school is starting again, and Richie is feeling a bit perplexed about his connection to the Losers and Eddie especially. All rights to the rightful creators of the characters. If you wish to see more fics like this, let me know by leaving feedback. Enjoy.

Title:

Click click click click click click click

The whirring noise of the projector whined softly to life, casting a fuzzy white light across the little bedsheet hung by rusted thumbtacks. The sound of the clumsy contraption filled the black-haired boy with a sense of accomplishment. He pushed his glasses lazily, a force of habit, upon his pointed nose. He steadied the projector on the old trunk that he had perched it on. He had no idea why it was up here or what was even inside of it, not that it mattered. It was a perfect projector stand, so that's what its new purpose was. His father had once considered bringing down the old thing, but could not find a way to sand down the small splintered wood that jutted out of the sides like rogue porcupine needles. The wood was old, so it frayed a bit, it wasn't that much of a concern; at least, that was what his father had said to convince his mother. However, Mrs. Tozier was not having it. Something about it looking _unnatural _to her, not matching the furniture and all. Richie always found those little quips between his parents quite funny.

He grinned then, letting his mind wander to an all too familiar fantasy world. A place that he used a bit too frequently, he figured. Sometimes he had found it peculiar that one's imagination never died, just got repurposed for different preoccupations. Toy guns, little action figures, and all things he truly believed would never slip away ended up taking a back seat in his now 15-year-old brain. But now was not the time for Richie Tozier to allow his mind to race away with the blurred motions of the second hand on the clock. He had to hurry and finish his set up or else he'd hear it for sure, he knew it. Not that he minded taking a bit of flack from his small, easily irritated friend. But some nights, it felt like extra effort to find the inspiration to bite back accordingly.

Eddie was sure to be at the house soon. All of his other friends seemed to have found themselves busy on this particular weekend, leaving the two boys a bit lonely. Richie didn't mind, however. Eddie was one of his closest friends in the small group, for sure. But it seemed that less and less they spent any time alone together. Not that Richie even began to think of it as "alone together." Something about that sounded odd to him, embarrassing even. But he chalked it up to getting so used to being in a large group for so long. Not that Eddie was intimidating at all; in fact, Richie found him rather harmless. Even though it was apparent at times that Eddie did his best to appear fearless and angry, Richie always saw through the weak facade.

Not that Eddie hadn't been brave. No. That was not the case. After all the poor losers had been through, none of them could have that title taken away from them. And Eddie, fighting that clown alongside the rest of them. Eddie standing up to his mother. Eddie...

Richie shook his head and sighed. There was no reason to think about the horrid past summer right now. Tonight was supposed to be a fun night, a night to get back to the old days; before any of the dead kids or evil clowns or any of that horse shit, as Richie called it. Just a normal night. Just friends being together. He sometimes secretly found himself aching for those good old days, where he Bill, Stan, and Eddie would hang around the arcade or sneak into a scary movie. Nothing catastrophic or world-shattering to worry about. Just some awful bullies, angry parents, and bad grades. It seemed so much simpler then.

_Then, _Richie scoffed, _it wasn't that fucking long ago. Jesus Christ. _

But he didn't want to think about what should be or not. Tonight was a night to be an average teenage boy, not a monster fighter, not a comedian, nothing. He didn't want to have to be anything else or anybody else than Richie Tozier. He tried to put all of the scary events behind him, shove them in a briefcase, and toss it into the canal. Out of sight, out of mind. Tonight, he was going to be Richie Tozier, no more, no less.

Though, if he was honest with himself, at times, he wasn't sure who Richie Tozier was. With all of his jokes, different voices, and wild stories, he found at times that he didn't know exactly who _he_ was. There seemed to be three sides of Richie: _Trashmouth_, which was primarily seen by his friends, _Richard_, the kid his parents saw, and _Richie_. _Richie_ was seen by no one at times, not even by Richie himself. Whenever _Richie_ emerged, it always seemed to leave him feeling vulnerable. _Richie_ cried, _Richie_ laughed, _Richie_ was genuine. _Richie_ didn't need to be the center of attention or exist on a metaphorical stage, _Richie_ could simply be. But he was hard to find. _Trashmouth_ was so much easier to grasp and wrestle with; _he _was almost untouchable.

As he looked back, Richie could name all of the moments had let his guard down on one hand. It wasn't often, but God, it hurt when it did. As hard as he tried, there was always someone who slipped through, some words that he didn't expect, some terrible situation at hand that damaged the semi-fragile mask that he wore. He remembers that day at the arcade, the one with the, dare he say, rather a beautiful boy who just so happened to be his worst enemy Henry Bowers' cousin. _Yuck._

_That look on his face. He was so nice to me; there seemed to be nothing wrong. I just wanted to play another game… _Richie thought to himself as he grabbed the blanket folded up on the cold attic floor and spread it out in front of the tattered old bedsheet tacked on the wall. He didn't like to remember that day. Something about the nature of it made his stomach sick, sicker than any other unpleasant brush with Bowers. When he remembered the look of sudden disgust and fear in the blonde boy's eyes, it felt like his stomach was going to crumple up into a little paper ball — _fucking assholes. _

That afternoon, after the arcade, was when the real Richie came out, escaping from his eyes and on to his cotton shirt. It also didn't help the quality of the afternoon when he was scared half-to-death by the giant Paul Bunion statue's sudden animation. It was one hell of an afternoon.

Richie sighed heavily and plopped down on the large comforter that covered the old wooden boards of his parent's attic. He took in a lung full of air, placing his hands palms-down on his stomach. Richie pressed down, forcing the air slowly out of his diaphragm. From below, he could hear his parents bustling around in the kitchen. His mother was mumbling quietly; his father was laughing. He couldn't tell if they were conversing together or separately. There was no television that he could hear, so he figured they must be doing something that involved some variation of communication unless it was one of those night's where Richie's mom was on the phone for a few hours. It seemed to him that it was almost a therapeutic practice for his mother after a long day. Many times he had wandered down from his room into the kitchen and found his mom pacing around the kitchen, long spiral cord wrapped around her leg haphazardly. He would roll his eyes, knowing that the kitchen and his mother were almost strictly off-limits for the next hour and a half. Not that he minded, there was always his dad if he needed anything.

Richie stared dreamily up at the banisters. The old Christmas lights that his parents no longer used were wrapped tightly around the square blocks of wood. Their soft white glow was casting glare into his thick glasses. He closed his eyes. Just as he did, the smells of allspice, nutmeg, and pumpkin drifted by and swirled into his lungs. He took in the sweet air in an enormous breath. His mother must have been making a dessert. They had already eaten an hour prior, but Richie had no complaints about a late-night snack; especially if it was his mother's homemade muffins.

There was always something about the attic that he found relaxing. Most kids his age seemed to be afraid of their basements or attics, but not him. His attic was a safe space, a place where no one could find him if they didn't know that it was there. He was untouchable, undetectable, undiscoverable-.

"These muffins are out of this _world._"

Richie's eyes flashed open in a hurry as he sat up, his heart beating loud in his chest. His glasses had fallen backward off of his head, hitting the blanket with a soft _clack_. He looked ahead at the source of the voice and saw an extremely blurry outline of-.

"Eddie! Jesus fuck, man, you gave me a goddamn heart attack," He reached around for his glasses, found them, and placed them gently on the bridge of his nose. Eddie came into view, holding one and a half muffins. The half muffin was in the process of being eaten. Eddie was smiling as he responded.

"Then you shouldn't be sleeping if you're expecting someone over," he said, shrugging with a mouth full of pumpkin muffin, "my mom says it's rude."

Richie rolled his eyes so far that it hurt, "Eddie, I don't give a rat's ass about what your mom says. Plus, no one visits her except the pizza hut delivery man anyways."

"Ha, ha," Eddie barked at Richie. Eddie used to be bothered by the constant jabs at his poor-overweight mother, but after hanging around Richie for so long, he was beginning to see there wasn't much ill-intent behind the words.

Richie slid over and patted the blanket space next to him, beckoning for his shorter friend to come closer. Eddie looked Richie over as he made his way over. Richie was in a heather-grey t-shirt with the Guns N' Roses logo on it and tattered, blue, pinstriped pajama pants. It was much different from Eddie's normal short-shorts, t-shirt, and sneakers.

"You know," Eddie began, "you really shouldn't be barefoot in the attic. You can get tetanus from nails and hooks; then, they'll have to cut your leg off."

"Edds, I've been up here for years. Do you see me missing a leg? Besides, even if I _wanted _to wear shoes in here, my mom would kill me if she saw me with shoes. She wouldn't even let _you_ up here with shoes, would she?" Richie's eyes flashed to Eddie's socks.

Eddie held up a finger, then swung his book bag off of his shoulders, placed it on the ground, and unzipped it, revealing a pair of sneakers, "and that's why I brought a backup pair."

Richie rolled his eyes again. Eddie sat down next to him, slipping his shoes on one-by-one, still snickering proudly over his adept cleverness.

"No fanny pack tonight, grandma?"

Eddie shot Richie an annoyed look.

"_No_," he began, speaking as if to a small child, "why would I bring a fanny pack when I have a whole book bag. That's not even practical."

Richie snorted, shaking his head lightly as his friend got himself situated. As annoying as Eddie could be with his blatant hypochondriac tendencies, he did miss spending time with him. Ever since high-school started in September, it seemed as though making time for the Losers' club got harder. Not that they all didn't run into each other like the years prior, but things were different now. The bonds that held them all together were stronger than before. Richie was unsure of how the others felt, but he felt much closer to his fellow losers than ever before, but they all had lives to live. There was much more to consider as school rolled around. The little clubhouse in the Barrens had to take a backseat for a while.

Eddie glanced around at the makeshift movie theatre, taking in its brown, wood beams. He wondered if the builders of the house were genuinely qualified, or if they were just some underpaid street-dwellers who wanted a quick buck. Although, Richie seemed to spend plenty of time up in the dusty old attic. And as ill-informed Eddie considered Richie in terms of safety, he did truly trust his judgment when all was said and done. He never could figure out why. He thought that it was possibly the confidence Richie presented, that _devil-may-care _attitude with a sprinkle of defiance and humor to top it all off. That had to be it. Those were traits that Eddie occasionally wished he had possessed for himself. No matter how many punches Richie took, he always bounced back seemingly unscathed. Eddie, when he got hit with _anything, _seemed to be down for the count for a few days. No matter what. He admired Richie for his resiliency. Though Eddie would never admit it, he looked up to Richie.

"What are we watching?"

Richie pushed up off of the blanket and sauntered over to the old projector. He flipped a few switches, and the machine began with a whir. The picture on the screen was blurry, but soon it focused. The words "_Donald Pleasance in:_" flashed on the screen, followed by the title card for the fifth Halloween film, "**_The Revenge of Michael Myers_**. Richie flashed a smug grin at Eddie. Eddie rolled his eyes.

"Richie, how did you get this?" Eddie asked a tad perplexed and impressed. "This isn't even out of the theaters yet! Did you steal it?"

Richie shrugged, feeling especially proud of himself, "I know a guy. He owes me a favor."

Eddie glanced at the screen and back to Richie, looking a bit confused. "Out of all the films to waste a favor on, why this one? People say it's hot shit."

"_Well, then you won't have to worry about paying to see it, will you doll?_" Richie jeered, slathering his words in one of his deep southern accents. Eddie pretended to be annoyed but cracked a smile anyways. He held the muffin out to Richie.

"Here, I washed my hands."

"Eddie, I don't care."

"You _should _care! Germs can spread bacteria, and the flu is very common around this time of year. And if you don't take care of the flu, you may end up with something worse, like bronchitis or pneumonia or something wors-."

"Okay fine," Richie agreed, taking the muffin. "Then I don't care about _your _germs. You take so many drugs that your germs would probably cure the measles or some crazy eradicated disease."

They settled in, faced the film, and ate their muffins in silent. Eddie was sprawled out on his stomach; his eyes fixed carefully on the stalker on the screen. Richie was sitting, leaned against the old trunk that held the projector. Even though he chose this movie personally, he found himself a bit bored with what was on screen. He wanted to strike up a conversation but knew how Eddie felt about movie interruptions. So instead he chose to focus on the soft, mind-numbing _click click click_ of the projector.

He wondered what his plans were going to be for Halloween in a few weeks. He figured that it wouldn't be anything too adventurous, as Halloween took place on a Tuesday that year. Plus, he was sure that, if he was honest with himself, he had just about enough of scary things this year. Hell, he wasn't sure why he even picked a horror film to bring home. Not that he had many other choices, it was that or some chick-flick with some actress named _Carole Bouquet _or whatever the hell her name was. Regardless, Eddie seemed to be still enjoying horror movies, and if Eddie could stomach more horror, so could Richie.

Fifteen more minutes passed, and Richie found himself more and more antsy by the second. He tried fiddling with his glasses, cleaning them over and over on his shirt. That could only last for so long before even _that _became maddening. He found himself staring at Eddie a few times as well, studying his relaxed posture and mood. Something about that made Richie even more anxious to get up and move, _why couldn't he get comfortable?_

He pushed himself up off of the blanket once more. Eddie flashed him a look of curiosity.

"I'm going to get more muffins, want one?"

Eddie nodded, "Hell-yes."

Richie nodded in return, turning around to head to the attic ladder. He stopped, however, as Eddie cleared his throat. When he turned around, Eddie was wearing an expression of forced, over-the-top nonchalance.

"Hey, don't take too long. You'll miss the movie."

Richie scoffed, wondering why the need for underlying discomfort was necessary.

"_Yessir!_" He responded, giving him a half-hearted salute, chuckling to himself. He began to walk, keeping his eyes on his smiling best friend when suddenly he felt a sharp pain shoot up his calf.

"_Fuck!_" He hissed, jumping back from the aggressor. One of the frayed splinters of the wooden trunk, now covered in his blood, gleamed red in the soft light. _Now I guess I know what mom meant…_

_"Richie!" _Eddie yelped, jumping up from his relaxed position on the blanket on to his knees. He faced Richie, eyes full of concern and shock. "What's wrong, Rich?"

Richie shook his head in disgust at his stupidity, "Nothin' Edds, sit back down. I just got a cut on my leg. It's no big deal." Richie wasn't nervous about the matter; he had gotten his fair share of cuts and bruises in his time. Finding the bandaids wasn't a very challenging mission, either. However, Eddie seemed to be _beyond_ nervous.

"Oh my god, Richie! What happened? Is that blood?" He got to his feet.

Richie held his hands up, palms facing his best friend, "Eddie, I promise its nothing. Don't throw a hissy fit. It's just a little-."

"_Blood!_" Eddie cried out. Richie cringed as he watched a look of determination wash over Eddie's previously horrified face. The smaller boy stepped forward and grasped the other's wrists tightly. He directed Richie back towards the blanket, motioning him to sit back down. Richie began to protest, but Eddie gave him a distinct look that clearly said _shut up, Richie_.

"Eddie, Eddie, I'm fine! I'm not gonna need any shots," he said, bargaining with Eddie's hypochondria.

"You don't know that."

"Fine, to make you happy, if I do end up needing shots, I'll let you say _I told you so_."

Eddie flashed him a stern look, "That wouldn't make me happy. _I _don't laugh at injuries. Especially not…"

He trailed off.

When Richie was once more propped up against the wooden trunk, Eddie went to work. He dragged his book bag over hastily, the fabric made a protesting scratching sound, like fine-grain sandpaper against the old wood. He unzipped it with poise, pulling out the rubbing alcohol, bandaids, and gauze. Richie gawked, his glasses crooked on his mousey face. It was if Eddie had speed-trained for this exact scenario.

"Sorry."

"For what?" Richie began but was cut off by his surprised yelp as Eddie applied alcohol to his cut. A burning pain seared through his leg and twisted its way up to his fingers. He sucked in air through his clenched teeth and reflexively kicked, hitting Eddie square in the chest. Eddie gasped but ultimately shook it off. It hadn't hurt at all, Richie was barefoot anyways.

"For _that_. Now hold still. Don't be a baby."

"It fucking hurts, Eddie! It was perfectly fine before you decided to chemically assault me."

Eddie scoffed, "If I can deal with a certain four-eyes un-breaking my arm, you can deal with a bit of rubbing alcohol."

Richie grimaced sheepishly; he didn't like to remember that day. But, he supposed it was a fair critique. Eddie's eyes at that moment were horrified, almost crazed by fear. Richie and the other Losers were doing their best to comfort him, not understanding his pain entirely at first. But that was until they realized that Eddie's arm had broken due to his dreadful fall from the second story of the Neibolt Street house. To Richie, Eddie had seemed so unhinged that day, almost unstable in the aftermath. Yet, only months later, here he was: dressing Richie's wounds like none of that madness ever happened. Because of this, Richie felt a strange, but not unwelcome, wave of admiration and pride for his friendship with Eddie. As he watched the focused boy, he realized just how unique Eddie was. He tried to imagine any of the other boys in his grade, doing this act of kindness for their best friends. It seemed highly unlikely. Sure, they would be supportive, but would they get down on their knees and fix the issue? He doubted it.

And that was what made Eddie different. He wasn't afraid to express his concern and deep-rooted worries about the wellbeing of his friends. Richie had never considered it before, but maybe it meant more to Eddie than an anxious impulse. Perhaps all of the fussing was his way of showing _love. _After all, that was what he knew from his mother. She claimed she loved him, showing it by excessive caring and babying. Something about this small revelation made Richie feel oddly warm inside like he had just drunk a warm glass of cider after being out in the cold of hours. _Strange_.

Eddie finished his job only seconds after. When the bandage was finally securely fastened, he placed his hands on his shorts, examining his handiwork.

"You should be good to go, just clean it in an hour or so," he remarked, speaking with the authority of a well trained medical practitioner. His eyes drifted up to meet Richie's, assessing his pain level. "You done being a wuss?"

Richie snorted, "Thanks Nurse Kaspbrak."

"Laugh all you want," Eddie retorted, scooting next to Richie, leaning on the trunk as well, "You know damn well that without my help you'd be rotting away with some flesh-eating disease."

Richie just shrugged, "Probably right. _But you'd still love me anyway_."

Eddie flashed him a look. Richie laughed.

_Click, click, click, click, click._

Richie looked over at Eddie; he realized then that his dark chocolate brown eyes looked tired, no, _exhausted; _as if his heroic act drained the life out of him. He was now fixing them on the movie once more, but all interest for it seemed to have fleeted. He felt a spark of guilt in his heart, concerned that he was the catalyst of the dampened mood. And something about that upset him.

"Edds?"

"Hm?"

"You alright?"

Eddie nodded, not taking his eyes from the screen. He seemed to be processing something over in his head, Richie could almost see the metaphorical wheels spinning around and around.

"Not to be weird, but can I ask you something?"

Eddie turned his head slowly, almost with underlying caution, toward Richie. His eyes were dubious, aware of the sudden change in the atmosphere around him. He couldn't help but feel nervous. Serious Richie was not something he saw often; it always seemed to come with bad news attached. Like an omen. But to his shock, Richie spoke out of fear, but of seemingly genuine curiosity.

"Why do you get stressed out over us so much?"

Eddie was taken aback, not expecting such a profound question from Richie. Sure, he knew Richie had it in him to be meaningful when the time was right, but in the presence of a cheesy slasher film, it seemed a bit out of place.

But Eddie shrugged, sincerity washing over his glazed expression, "I don't know honestly. I think ever since we killed… Well, I haven't felt the same. I worry about you guys. All of you. I know that sounds like kind of a chick thing. But just seeing you all almost killed, it reminded me of how fragile we all are. I don't think I could wrap my head around losing you-any of you."

Richie smiled, feeling an oddly familiar swelling inside of his heart. He stared at the boy next to him. His thick brown hair was messy, a product of the wind blowing harshly outside. His eyes were knowing, almost ones that you commonly saw adorned on adult's faces. Dark, shallow circles were painted almost permanently just above his cheekbones. His skin was smooth, pale, but peppered in light freckles, reminding Richie of a sort of porcelain. And his lips were small, but fit his face just right, almost akin to a centerpiece to a beautiful landscape portrayed on a canvas. And at that moment, Richie had realized that Eddie, a boy who stood by his side for years, was beautiful. Even more beautiful than the boy at the arcade, or any other boy in Derry for that matter. All of this time, he had never noticed, never even considered, just how unique Eddie was.

Eddie felt Richie's watchful eyes on him. He turned his head again, mild curiosity coating his words, "What is it, Rich?"

Richie froze for only half a moment, filled with a sudden shock of inspiration for action. There seemed to be no warning, no sign of any debate, just pure adrenaline and desire. He leaned forward swiftly and connected his lips to Eddie's in one electric second. He felt emotion blossom in him, like gasoline finally catching flame, casting heat throughout his entire body. He kissed Eddie gently, feeling his warm lips under his own. Eddie did not move.

A moment passed, and Richie pulled away, bliss still coursing through his veins. He felt euphoric like a weight had finally lifted off of his shoulders, or like he could eventually catch his breath after a long race. He felt wonderful.

Until he caught a glimpse at Eddie's expression, then he felt his heart sink like an anchor, grounding him in the cold, harsh reality of the situation.

_Uh oh._

For a moment, as brief, as it was, he thought it was going to be alright. Eddie got caught off guard; they'd laugh it off in a minute or two. But then Eddie's eyes crinkled up, expression twisted into one of disbelief and disgust. He raised his hand and wiped his mouth with the back of his palm.

And Richie felt his heart snap in two.

"_Richie? What the hell was that! What's wrong with you?"_

Richie said nothing. He turned away quickly, feeling an intense burning sensation behind his eyes. His heartbeat was dull in his ears; his blood rushed to his face in gallons, making him blush in ways he didn't even consider possible.

"What the hell, Richie! Why would you do that?"

But still there was silence, and it continued for what tasted like hours, but truthfully only lasted for mere seconds. Eddie began to see clearly again. But Richie was still not answering; he seemed rigid, frozen in place. Eddie raises his eyebrows.

"Richie?" He inquired, carefully now. Not sure what was going through his best friend's head.

And that's when the sobs began. Tears trickled down poor Richie Tozier's cheeks like streams. He felt his heart clench with a sickening soreness, and he hugged his knees near his chest and cried. This felt worse, much, much worse than the arcade. He wondered if he'd get sick. His stomach likened to seasickness.

Rejection, again. And, like before, he was to blame. _This, _he thought to himself, _is why the real Richie Tozier should never be seen. He only fucks things up. He only ruins things. And cries, cries, cries, cries. _He removed his glasses and threw them to the floor.

Eddie, for lack of a better word, was petrified. Richie, the indestructible spirit, the trashmouth, sat next to him weeping. He didn't like seeing him like this; it twisted his stomach into tight little knots. He felt a sense of guilt wash over him like a massive ocean wave, knocking the breath out of him. Whatever had happened, Eddie knew that how he responded was not good. It was like he had taken Richie Tozier and crumpled him like a piece of scrap paper.

"Rich-."

"_Don't_."

Eddie stopped, reorganized his thoughts, then continued warily. "Richie, talk to me, c'mon." He begged, reaching out and tugging on his arm, trying to separate his limbs from his face. Eddie was slightly horrified, he had done something he never thought anyone could ever do, he made Richie cry. That began to make him feel sick and disgust towards himself. Had he ever made anyone cry before? He wasn't sure. The only people who ever made people cry were people like Henry Bowers, the ones who had no regard for people around them, the ones who never took time to consider how their actions made others feel. He wasn't sure what made Richie kiss him, or why for that matter, or _how, _but he was not about to be considered someone who makes others feel worse. Especially someone like Richie. Eddie sighed, letting his eyes roam over his down-hearted friend. He took in a deep breath; the smell of the muffins filled his senses. And with that, he got up and headed for the ladder.

Richie's breath hitched a bit as he realized Eddie was leaving, but he dared not stop him. He didn't want to stretch the remaining strands of this relationship any further than he already had this evening. He wasn't even sure if there was any friendship to be had anymore. He knew deep down that a silly thing like a kiss wouldn't sever the ties he had with Eddie, but sorrow clouded his eyes. How could he face him after this evening? Would the other Losers notice the change in their friendship or lack thereof? Would Eddie leave from his house and head straight over to Bill's? Would he tell him that Richie Tozier, the kid they had grown up with, was a grade-A _fag_? Would Eddie tell the rest of their friends what happened? Would his _mom_ find out? What would she do? Would he call Richie's parents, complaining about the assault that was conducted on her boy by their little _fairy_? Maybe word would spread around school, causing a whole new wave of bullies to chase after him. But this time, there would be no fellow Losers to protect him. He'd be alone… Alone and… But he couldn't think of the word. He couldn't think of it because it wasn't true. He wasn't… it was just a fluke — just a weird glitch in his brain. There was no way.

_Yes, there was a way… and he knew it. _Richie felt sick.

He flinched out of fright when he felt someone bump him. He looked up from his arm, seeing a blurry hand holding out a muffin, just mere inches from his face. He didn't have his glasses, but he could tell only by the fuzzy outline that it was Eddie.

"_Eddie?_" He croaked, "_You didn't leave?_"

Eddie shook his head. He bumped his hand against Richie's arm again, signaling to take the baked good. Richie reached out, missing the muffin by a few inches. He grunted in frustration. He really shouldn't have tossed his glasses. In his annoyance, he heard a hesitant chuckle, followed by a sigh. He "saw" Eddie reach out and grab Richie's wrist, placing the muffin in the palm of his hand. When he released his wrist, Eddie leaned away, reaching for something Richie couldn't see that was across the floor. When Eddie returned, he rubbed something on his shirt.

Eddie wasn't sure if cleaning glasses on a t-shirt worked, but he figured he'd give it a try. He unfolded the thick-lensed spectacles carefully, minding the tape, and put them gently into place.

"No, I didn't leave."

There was silence then. Both boys only stared at each other, both feeling the awkward tension press on them like heavyweights. Neither cared. They studied each other's face carefully, both looking for something that was not present: anger. Richie was searching for an anger fueled by disgust, but it wasn't there. Eddie was searching for an anger fueled by hurt, but it wasn't there either. There was only Richie and Eddie.

"Richie, are you alright?"

Silence.

"Richie, _please_-talk to me," he begged.

There was another moment of silence, but it was broken by a very meek "_sorry._"

Eddie was still. _Richie was apologizing. Why? _

"Please don't be pissed at me. Please don't tell the others. I don't want them to hate me too."

Eddie was taken aback, _confused _even. He understood why Richie might have concerns that _others_ would hate him if he were gay. But what he _couldn't _understand is why he believed the other Losers would hate him by any means.

"Rich, do you really think that I hate you? Do you honestly think any of the others would hate you?" But Richie said nothing, just squeezed his eyes shut as a few spare tears welled up and raced down his pale face.

"You think Bill would love you any less? You think Ben would? You think Bev would care? Think of Beverly, could you even imagine her hating you for being gay after all that _she's _been through?"

Those words made Richie raise his head in alarm, a fear-sourced rage filled his eyes as he snapped at Eddie, "_I'm **not **gay."_

Eddie held up his palms in surrender, "_Okay_, okay, sorry, Rich. I'm just saying, if you _were_, I don't think any of us could just cast you aside. You're our friend Richie; you're _our _trashmouth. And you're _my _best friend."

Richie sniffed. Eddie's reassurances didn't seem to be working. He sighed once more, rubbing the back of his neck with his palms. He felt his face go red.

"It, uh, it really wasn't too bad, Rich."

Richie's glare was piercingly stressed as he met Eddie's eyes again. He coughed a very snarky laugh, "Oh yeah, _right. _That's a hock of shit. You should have seen the look on your face. I think you would have been less grossed out if that leper had kissed you."

Eddie winced. It wasn't the reminder of the leper that made him shudder, but the simple implication that a simple kiss could outdo his worst fear from his best friend. As if that was in any way a more terrible thing. He could have scoffed. In truth, the kiss _wasn't _that bad. It was the pure shock that painted his features in such a way, at least, most of it was shock. There was a part of him who immediately thought of all the deep-seated hatred of any boys who loved other boys that society held. All that he had taught indirectly about homosexuals dancing quickly across his face was enough to send his best friend into a terrible sobbing fit. _No stereotype was worth Richie's smile, _Eddie thought. And he meant it. _And hell, even if Richie was gay, if that's what he is, then gays can't be that bad after all. If Richie was gay, then all of that hate couldn't be valid. No one would dare ever make fun of any gay person if they were to meet Richie Tozier. _

But there was something even deeper that he had even more trouble coming to terms with. It was something he had always buried under all of his other multitudinous issues that ravaged his life because it was the hardest to grapple with. It was the hardest because it was not something his mom could fix with an emergency room trip. It was something he had always fought off due to the nature of his demeanor. His small feminine stature, his almost maternal concern for his friends, his high-pitched voice, and delicate movements. Too easy to assume for strangers. But it all boiled down to the simple fact: Eddie had always found Richie extremely cute. And it wasn't the same kind of cute that he associated with girls, or Bev even. He could tell when a girl was cute, _beautiful _even. But none of those girls who had that word tagged onto them like invisible badges ever seemed to tug on his heart the way Richie did. When he looked at Richie, there were times he thought he needed his aspirator at first. He had soon realized that it was not _that _severe, but there was a fondness. He had written it off multiple times as just a strong friendship, a bond that he had with a boy he had admired. He had never considered, at least until tonight, that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to that.

"That's-that's not true."

"Oh _yeah_? Prove it!"

Eddie swallowed hard, and he puffed out his chest. He wasn't sure if what he was planning was a good idea, but it was worth a shot. He looked Richie dead in the eye, "Do it again."

Richie blinked. Shock flashing across his face quicker than a whip crack. It was if someone had electrocuted him. His eyes scanned Eddie, searching for the butt of the joke, trying to pick up on the sign that he was going to begin laughing. But there was nothing.

"_What_?" He whispered.

Eddie clenched his fists at his side in anticipation, fearing something he could not understand, "Kiss me, Richie."

Richie uncoiled his arms from around his legs. He kept his eyes on Eddie, shifting his stance, so he was kneeling as well. He still felt like a bulldozer had run him down, but looking at his friend across from him, his eyes tense with concern and care, he felt the familiar pull at his heartstrings.

This time Richie was more cautious as he leaned in close. He let his eyes reflexively flutter shut just before his lips pressed gently to Eddie's. He felt the warmth speed through his body like two rouge racehorses, both starting at either lobe of his brain, the finish line at his heart. Eddie did not pull away. Instead, to Richie's shock, he felt Eddie lean in closer, allowing the kiss to deepen ever so slightly. Richie's mind sped up. It was if someone had quickened the RPM on a record player. He moved his hand up to cradle Eddie's cheek, feeling the soft flesh there. He felt Eddie shudder. Richie thought at first he should stop, that he had reached his limit, and began to pull away. But to his surprise, Eddie matched his movements, not allowing the kiss to end.

It was Eddie's turn to feel the euphoria. He thought his heart might explode out of his chest like a rocket. He wasn't sure what he had expected from this, but it wasn't this. He planned to feel a bit embarrassed, maybe even a bit flustered, but not this. He shocked himself too as he found himself not wanting to break the kiss. Now it was him who took control as he grabbed Richie's forearms firmly and pulled him closer. His heart was fluttering in his chest; his mind was wildly aware of every sensation that he felt at that moment. He could taste the faint taste of salty tears on Richie's lips, could feel the newly founded radiation of heat off of Richie's skin, heard the heartwarming sigh that escaped from his throat. He felt Richie place his hands gently on his shoulders, Eddie responded by wrapping his arms around the small of Richie's back.

The kiss itself only lasted a quaint 8 seconds, but to the boys, it felt like hours. When they finally broke it, they began to giggle. As they finally opened their eyes, Eddie's giggling turned into laughter. At this, Richie began to laugh as well. They both sat back down across from one another like before, smiles adorning their faces. Eddie was rubbing his eyes.

"_Holy shit,_" he laughed.

Richie nodded, "_Yeah_, no, kidding."

As their laughter faded, a comfortable silence drifted into its place. They stared at each other, each holding the other's gaze. Richie's face was returning to its natural color after being flushed from tears. Eddie was closing his eyes again.

"Thank you, Eddie."

"Hm?"

"Thank you. I know that probably wasn't your favorite thing to do. Thank you."

Eddie paused, shocked at Richie's genuinely earnest words. It took him off guard, but he laughed. _God, he's so fucking clueless._

"Richie."

"Yeah?"

"You're a fucking idiot."

Richie was puzzled, but he dared not ask any questions. This moment felt unreal, almost perfect. He didn't want to take the chance of saying something and ruining it. But, in the end, as usual, he couldn't help it.

"I don't get it."

"Richie, you do realize that I was kissing you back, right? You're not _that _thick-skulled."

Richie blushed scarlet. He had known Eddie was kissing him in return, but he figured that was just him being kind. _Did Eddie want me to kiss him? Genuinely? _

"I knew that. But either way, you didn't _have _to do that. I'm sorry if I guilted you by crying," Richie sighed and looked to the floor. Was he _really _going to spill his guts now? _If not now, then when? It might be nice to have someone hear for once. _"Can I tell you something, Eddie? Can you keep it a secret?"

Eddie nodded, patiently waiting for Richie to continue.

"A while back, before the whole standoff with… the clown, I was playing Street Fighter at the arcade. You know, like I normally do. When this kid maybe, oh, a year or so older than us came up next to the consul and watched me play. He told me I was pretty badass at the game, so I invited him to play. So we did, for about 15 minutes or so. Eddie," he paused, "When we were done, I didn't _want _him to leave. Something about his eyes and his smile, I wanted to spend the rest of the day with him. So I offered my last token, asking for one last round. I let my guard down."

Something in Eddie's demeanor changed, his posture became a bit rigid, "Rich, if you wanted someone to play with you could have just asked, moron. _I_ would have played that last round with you."

Something about that made Richie smile, but the grin quickly faded. He shifted uncomfortably, "Anyways, he said no, that he had to go. I didn't understand why at first, but when Henry Bowers showed up, he began talking to him like he knew him. And, well, he did. That was his cousin."

Eddie's eyes went wide with shock. He could tell where this was going without any clues. Henry Bowers and other bullies had always barked slurs at Richie, calling him a fag, fairy, a flamer. And after what had happened between them tonight, he realized that those insults may have cut more viciously than he could ever have imagined. _Poor Rich._

"Bowers called me a faggot and accused me of trying to fuck his cousin. I was so angry and embarrassed; I ran out. I cried like a girl. That was until the fucking clown showed up," Richie shook his head. He sighed again, but this time out of relief. It was finally off his chest, his dirty secret. He was able to tell someone, and not just anyone, his best friend. Someone he truly cared about. He spun himself as he sat and fell back gently on the blanket, staring at the ceiling. "You have no fucking idea how good that feels to talk about finally."

Eddie had joined him on the blanket. But rather than stare at the ceiling, he stared at Richie. It was like the kiss they had shared opened his eyes to his friend for the first time. There, in the dimly lit attic, he realized just how beautiful Richie Tozier was; not in the traditional way, but beautiful none-the-less. Every aspect of his face was to be appreciated. His black hair to his brown eyes, to his long nose, and down to his full lips. Suddenly, he wasn't sure how that boy could turn him down so readily. Eddie considered how society treated boys who loved other boys and understood why he was hesitant. Hell, he wasn't even sure how _he _was going to handle this new situation. What was next? _Was_ there a next? Did he _want _there to be a next? He thought that he did. He considered how his mother would feel about the situation and mentally shuddered. He thought about being bullied himself if anyone had found out about their kiss. He realized that if any of this had gotten out, he would be in danger. And for a brief second, as he considered these possibilities, he was convinced that this would _never _happen again. It was the only way to be sure. But then his memories of how he had felt mere minutes ago flooded his brain, filling his stomach with residual butterflies. _Did he want to give up the possibility of kissing Richie again? Could he resist feeling that burning chemical reaction between them? _No, he wanted _more_. There was a part of him that seemed to be growing steadily, and that part wanted to see just how far they could push this new set of emotions. See what they could get away with. See how it would _feel_ to get away with it.

"Richie?"

"Yeah?"

"Are we going to, you know, do that again?"

Richie didn't hesitate in replying, "Yeah, I think I'd really like to."

"Me too."

Silence again.

"Eddie?"

"Hm?"

"Can I hold your hand?"

Now it was Eddie's turn to flush. Richie laughed, taking in his expression as confirmation. He reached over and took a gentle hold of his best friend's soft hand. It felt warm on his own; it felt _right_. Eddie smiled sheepishly, pink blush melting into a brilliant Ruby.

"_You like me,_" Richie jeered in a sing-song voice. Eddie rolled his eyes.

"_Beep, beep_, Richie."

Richie's laughter filled the attic, echoing off of the wooden planks. It mixed in beautifully with the pure sound of the film coming to a close. _Click click click click click_. Eddie smiled.

"Eddie, was that your first kiss?"

"Yeah, it was. You?"

Richie was quiet for a brief moment, "No."

Eddie felt a twinge of heat flood his system, a new flavor of jealousy that he had not realized at the time. "_Really_?" He asked, trying to mask the new sensation.

"Well, yeah, I mean, your mom and I have made out _hundreds of times_, so…"

There was another pause.

"Richie, that's just fucking weird," Eddie said dryly.

And Richie laughed and laughed.


	2. Bonus: Original Draft and Playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it'd be fun to include the original framework for this story, as it became something a tad different. I'm also including a few songs I listened to as I wrote the story. It helped me set the mood. Enjoy!

Watching old films in a treehouse or something, lots of warm imagery, first kiss, spices smells. ‘

Go back in and edit more passion and confusion for the boy at the arcade. 

Richie cuts himself/scrapes himself on something sharp in the attic. Eddie freaks, convinces Richie to let him clean it. Richie promises that he’ll be fine, he doesn’t need any shots. He says if he gets sick Eddie can claim that he told him so. Eddie grimaces, saying that if he gets sick he’ll be upset/pissed, not proud that he was right. Richie says that a little sickness won’t knock him down, Eddie looks at him seriously horrified and tells him not to even joke about that sort of thing. He gets anxious a bit, and Richie doesn’t know why. Eddie explains that he’s been extra worried about the wellbeing of the other losers after the events of the sewers. There’s a part of him, and he admits that it's a bit “girly” that he really worries about everyone, Richie especially. Richie feels butterflies and he doesn’t know why. He asks Eddie why, Eddie says something to the degree of “Richie you have the intelligence of a peanut” and he knows he’s reckless. Richie says that’s ridiculous, but he can tell that Eddie is very serious. He wonders if, because of how his mother is, Eddie’s way of showing love and that he cares is through excessive worrying. He takes it a bit serious, tiptoeing the line of bringing out the “real” Richie to relate to Eddie. He promises Eddie that he has nothing to worry about, plus Richie says that he always feels confident that he’ll be okay as long as Eddie is around to save the day with his grandma skills. Richie meant it to be more of a comforting joke, but Eddie seems actually content with the backhanded compliment. Richie is intrigued by seeing the look on Eddie’s face. 

Relate back to Richie being overwhelmed by the realization that Eddie wouldn’t judge him about the real Richie coming out. But it’s obviously wrong to some degree at first 

After they kiss it’s very awkward. They both are sputtering and Eddie even wipes his mouth, and that hurts Richie's feelings secretly. They both angrily confess that they aren’t fags, it was just a weird coincidence. However, Richie is experiencing a kind of high from the kiss. In fact, he finds it difficult to mask his euphoria. Eddie gets up to leave but Richie convinces him to forget it happened and continue to watch the movie he got from the theater. It’s awkward until Richie (somehow) brings up that Eddie obviously thought it was disgusting kissing him. Eddie rolls his eyes and whines “richieeeee” annoyed. Richie says “what??? I’m genuinely curious if you thought it was that bad!” Eddie says no, Richie isn’t a bad kisser. It’s just.,, that's not right. He’s not into guys. This makes Richie kinda sad. But he says nothing. Eddie admits that that was his first kiss. Richie says no shit. But also says that was his too. Eddie says it doesn’t count, Richie mistakenly asks why, a bit offended. Eddie looks at him weirdly. Richie says nothing, feeling strangely very emotional. He bites his lip. He looks away, feeling angry. Eddie senses the tension and leans away. Richie is feeling all sorts of confused, and to his horror, he feels the sting of tears again. Again, why did these rejections make him feel so awful? First the blonde, now his best friend hated him. All because he was a bit too friendly. He didn’t think that was so bad. Eddie notices that Richie is looking abnormally rigid. At first, Eddie just thinks he’s mad, which he could deal with, but when Eddie realizes that he’s upset, he feels instantly regretful and afraid. He’s never seen Richie cry. He asks Richie if he’s okay. As usual, when asked that, Richie chokes and he looks over at Eddie, seeing his concern, the tears forced themselves out. Eddie panics, frozen and unsure about what to do. He’s so confused by the whole situation. In reality, he didn’t mind the kiss that much. He was just trying to cover up so Richie wouldn’t think he was a fairy. In fact, he didn’t mind it at all. Which unnerved him in another way, but that wasn’t important at the moment. What he couldn’t understand is why Richie was crying.Richie reaches out and hugs Eddie, crying on his shoulder, he feels wrongdoing it the whole time, arguing with his insecurities about being feminine and showing emotion, but he can’t help it. Eddie freezes too, but eventually gives in and awkwardly, but caringly holds Richie. After Richie has calmed down, he gets up and leaves, Richie says nothing, thinking he really fucked up now. Richie Tozier is not worth being seen. He needs to stick to trashmouth. Eddie comes back upstairs then with more muffins and hands one to Richie and smiles. 

They discuss lightly why Richie is upset. He edited the story but explains what happened with Bowers’ cousin. Eddie, not sure how to respond, admits that it wasn’t that bad. He was just shocked. Richie says no that he’s lying and he hated it. Eddie responds with do it again. Richie doesn’t believe him at first. He says if we do this it doesn’t mean they’re gay, Eddie agreed. Richie kisses Eddie softly, trying to duplicate what he’s seen on TV. 

Didn’t all boys his age recognize other boys as attractive? Why wouldn’t they? That was just human nature

_______________________

Playlist:

Halloween (Downstairs) by Ruston Kelly

False God by Taylor Swift

Standing Outside a Broken Phonebooth With Money in My Hand by Primitive Radio Gods


End file.
